O Captain! My Captain!
Walt Whitman
1819 to 1892
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O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale still,
My father does not feel my arm, he no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.